


Mumbles for Help

by EmeraldAshes



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Connor, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-05 04:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12182709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldAshes/pseuds/EmeraldAshes
Summary: Evan knows he should tell someone. Because what if the thoughts suddenly aren’t thoughts anymore? What if the people he cares about look back and wonder what they missed? What if they blame themselves just because Evan was too afraid to ask for help?





	Mumbles for Help

“It’s been a while since we talked, kiddo,” Heidi says. “Is everything going okay?”

Evan, sitting on a park bench a few minutes’ walk from his university, tries to keep his voice and the hand holding his cell phone steady. “It’s, um, it’s good.

He breathes slowly to calm down, but his heart is frantic, like he just finished a run. Each heartbeat pulses through his ears. _Tell her. Tell her. Tell her._

“It’s a little, o-overwhelming,” Evan stutters. She would know something was wrong just from that, and maybe that’s okay? Maybe it’s better if she figures it out without him telling her?

Heidi sighs. “You’ve got a lot on your plate. It’s tough having a part-time job and school, plus that club you’re in, uh—”

“Environmental Science,” Evan dutifully reminds her.

Heidi speaks with strained cheer, and Evan can almost picture the tight smile on her face. “It’s totally normal to be stressed.”

It isn’t normal to go to a rooftop party and spend the whole time staring off the edge. It isn’t normal to picture a shadowy figure on top of skyscrapers and think, “That’s me.” It isn’t normal to linger at balconies and imagine the wind in your hair, the breath escaping your lungs, the blue sky stretching above you. It isn’t normal to finally have a hold of everything you’ve ever wanted—friends, university, a good job, a boyfriend who doesn’t think you’re a loser—and want more than anything to let go.

Heidi continues, “You just need to hold it together until finals.”

“I’ve been holding it together for months!” Evan immediately regrets shouting, regrets saying anything at all.

There’s silence at the other end of the phone, and then Heidi’s careful voice with just a hint of tears roughening it. “…Evan, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

That is so blatantly untrue that he has to choke back a laugh. Evan made her cry. He’s not even _there_ and he’s still being a burden.  “S-sorry for shouting. I’m fine. I just…You know how I blow things up in my head sometimes.”

“Are you sure?”

Evan forces a smile, knowing she’ll hear it in his voice. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

 

* * *

 

The university has a counseling center. This is the sixth time Evan has looked it up this week, and he has the url nearly memorized. It’s confidential. His mom wouldn’t need to know.

He wants to book an appointment; he really does.

But the thought of taking on one more responsibility—calling, scheduling an appointment, meeting a new therapist, showing them his ugliest parts—is exhausting. And it probably wouldn’t work out anyway. They can’t prescribe medication. They’re mostly staffed by students, people only a couple years older than him. The counseling center is there for exam stress and kids with dead grandmas, not people as damaged as Evan. Besides, this is just for another few months, then he can rest over Winter Break.

He’ll be fine. He’s fine.

 

* * *

 

Evan is buried in American History flashcards.

“Relax,” Zoe says, and it’s easy for her. She isn’t here on scholarship, and she already has an A average in class. She can afford a late night cram for the third test. Evan is the one who begged for them to study together, and Zoe’s been half on her phone for the last hour.

“I c-can’t fail this class,” Evan says.

Zoe smiles at him. “You’re not gonna fail.”

“I n-need to do well, okay? There’s n-no other option”—Evan snorts—“except m-maybe throwing myself off a building.”

Zoe stills, and her voice goes cold. “You’ve been spending too much time around Connor.”

Evan’s dread over his friend being mad at him is already outweighing his terror of flunking out of college. He twists a flashcard in his hand. “W-what?”

Her arms cross. “You shouldn’t joke about stuff like that. It’s not funny.”

Zoe’s brother tried to kill himself. She’s still hurting from it. Connor is, too. Evan wants to tell her that he doesn’t think suicide is funny. Not really. It’s just been on his mind so much, and it helps to say it aloud sometimes, push it into the light.

Evan bows his head and stares at the flashcard, not really seeing them. “Sorry.”

 

* * *

 

The fantasies are vivid. Evan imagines himself at the edge of a roof, a balcony, a branch. He stands there, carefully balanced, until he relaxes and lets gravity sweep him down. The wind slips between his grasping fingers and whispers in his ears. All he sees is sky.

The fantasy always ends before he lands.

That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Maybe it isn’t that he wants to die, exactly. Maybe it’s just, just him wanting to relax and not have so many responsibilities. Of course, he can’t exactly stop taking classes, and work is important, too. His club matters for his future career, and the thought of spending less time with his friends and Connor is awful.

The point is that Evan has a lot going on right now. Maybe it’s normal to think about letting go with no consequences.

“Um, Alana?” Evan says.

Alana glances at him as she sorts books from the returns rack. They work together during most of his shifts, and he knows that he only got the job because she recommended him.

“D-do you think suicidal ideation can be a metaphor?”

“How so?”—she glances at the book she’s scanning—“In literature?”

Evan lies. “Yes.”

Alana hums. “I would argue that almost all aspects of literature can be metaphorical, when placed under a critical lens.”

“So, if a character wants to k-kill themselves by, by jumping off a sk-skyscraper, what do you think that means?”

“Alienation from a cold, modern world? Perhaps wanting to fly? It could be any number of things, really. Does that help?”

Evan gives her a smile, making sure that his eyes crinkle so she believes it. “S-sure. Thanks, Alana.”

 

* * *

 

Evan is sure he failed the American History exam. He hates himself for being so stupid, for messing up, and for caring so, so much. Because he doesn’t even know how he did yet, the grades aren’t out until next week, but he’s already oozing self-hatred. He wishes he could just flip a switch and feel nothing.

He closes his eyes, lying back against his dorm room bed. He tries to calm his breathing. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. In for four…His feet slip off solid ground, the wind comes, then the sky, and his head cracks against the pavement, worries spilling out on the sidewalk.

Evan feels nauseous. He shouldn’t be alone right now, should he? Probably not. This is serious. Has been serious. He can’t pretend it isn’t serious anymore because things have been bad for a while, but he drew a line between serious and not serious. That was the line. Landing, _dying_ was the line. He needs…

Jared wanders in.

“I’ve been having weird dreams lately,” Evan blurts out.

Jared laughs at him. “Dude, I do not want to hear about your ‘weird dreams.’”

Evan chuckles weakly, mostly laughing at himself because what was he thinking? Jared doesn’t really care. Jared wouldn’t even hang out with him if he hadn’t gotten stuck with Evan as a roommate. Still, Evan puts up a token protest. “I-it’s not like…Never mind. Dreams aren’t r-really ever interesting to, to other people, right? Sorry.”

Jared flips open his laptop, waving Evan off. “No problem.”

“No problem,” Evan mumbles.

 

* * *

 

The problem is that Evan would want to know. If his friends wanted to kill themselves, he would want to know so he could help them. He would want to know before they hurt themselves, before they disappeared. The thought of any of them feeling like no one would miss them…It bothers him.

He had cried when Connor confessed to a suicide attempt in high school because Evan never, ever wanted Connor to feel like that. Evan had thought about telling him about his own attempt then, but it seemed rude. He didn’t want to, like, accidentally one-up the worst moment of his boyfriend’s life. But maybe that _had_ been the right moment, and he’d missed it?

Connor is so clearly happy to see him, swinging his apartment door open after only one knock. His sharp, beautiful face softens when he sees Evan, and Evan doesn’t want to ruin that. But the thoughts are getting worse, and what if suddenly they aren’t thoughts anymore? What if Connor looks back on tonight and wonders what he missed? What if he thinks he did something wrong?

“I…I n-need to t-t-talk to you about s-something,” Evan says as soon as they’re in Connor’s studio apartment. He’s stuttering way more than he should be, and he feels a spike of self-loathing for that.

Connor’s expression goes blank.

Evan picks at his fingers. “I’m…I’m, I’m—”

“You’re breaking up with me.” Connor’s voice feels far away.

“No, no, I, I just...”

Connor laughs harshly. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s cool. I mean, it fucking sucks, and I’m gonna need space or whatever. But I’m not gonna start throwing shit.”

Evan can see Connor withdrawing, hands clutching his arms, body tilted away from Evan. His hand is on the doorknob, and Evan can just imagine himself being ushered out, left standing in the cold, while Connor huddles heartbroken inside.

Evan can’t let that happen. “I’m not breaking up with you!”

Connor speaks slowly. “Seriously?”

“I’m not breaking up with you,” Evan repeats.

“Oh, uh. Sorry for freaking out, and,”—Connor flashes him an apologetic smile—“Thanks?”

Evan scratches his nose, eyes on his shoes. “I, um, I get it if you want to, if you d-decide to break up with me, though. I do.”

Connor grabs Evan’s arm, tugging him over to a couch that’s way too nice for the cheap apartment, a present from Cynthia. “I’m literally never breaking up with you.”

Evan presses himself against Connor as they sit down. “You shouldn’t, sh-shouldn’t make promises like that…I still need to tell you something. I just. Can you m-maybe not talk for a minute? Because I’m not sure I’m brave enough to, to do this again.”

Connor mimes locking his lips with a little smirk, and Evan is so glad he’s here.

“Okay, I’m…I’ve been, I…” Evan grabs Connor’s hand. Connor squeezes.

“I-I”—Then, in a burst of noise—“I think I might be suicidal.”

After that, Evan can’t stop talking. “I want to s-say that I would never, that it’s just th-thoughts, but it’s just that they weren’t last time? So I can’t say that. I just…I tr-tried to k-k-kill myself once. And I never t-told anybody. Nobody noticed.”

Connor tugs Evan closer so that Evan is half in his lap, Evan’s chin against Connor’s shoulder. It isn’t comfortable, but it’s nice. Connor’s voice cracks a little. “Tell me about it?”

“It was the summer before s-senior year of high school. I did everything to be invisible, but I was so, so desperate for someone to see me. I had no friends, and Mom was always busy b-because she wanted to make things better for us. I just f-felt like s-such a burden. I still do, sometimes?”

“You’re not a burden.”

Evan nods. “It, um, wasn’t planned or anything. I climbed this oak tree, and I d-didn’t want to come down, and then I thought maybe I didn’t have to. But I f-fucked it up. Broke my arm, had to walk to the park’s office, got a _really_ awkward car ride to the hospital.”

Connor is silent for a moment, then firmly declares, “That sucks.”

“I lied. Said I fell. Stupid Evan Hansen went up a tree and couldn’t get down like a real p-pussy. Everybody believed it.”

Connor hugged him tightly. “I may actually hunt down everyone who ever hurt you.”

“Th-this is exactly why Jared keeps making school shooter jokes. It’s fine. High school’s supposed to be awful. I’m fine.”

“You’re suicidal,” Connor says.

“Yeah,” Evan mumbles. “I just…things are so good now. Everything’s good. Why do I still feel like this?”

Connor nudges Evan so that Connor can meet his eyes. “Your brain’s an asshole, and you don’t deserve your asshole brain.”

Evan snorts, and Connor’s face is soft again, though his eyes are sad. He strokes Evan’s cheek so gently that it tickles. Connor says, “This isn’t going to fix anything, and you should definitely see a therapist. I’ll drag you there, if I have to—”

“I’ll go,” Evan interrupts.

Connor’s hand cups Evan’s face and it stays there, a warm and solid support. “Cool. Good. Just…You know I love you, right?”

This was the first time Connor had ever said that. Evan blinked. “R-really? You do? Oh, wait, I mean, I lo—”

Connor places a gentle finger on Evan’s lips, and smiles teasingly but with a hint of nervousness, like maybe he thinks Evan is saying it just because Connor said it first. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

Evan speaks as soon as the finger slips away. “You love me?”

“I do. I love you, and I _need_ you, go it? I need you here with your freckles and your stutter and your inexplicable muscles—and yeah, I get that you’re outdoorsy, but _fuck_ Evan—and that thing where you get red when you want to argue with me because I dared to compliment you? That you’re doing _literally_ right now?”—Connor laughs—“I need that too.”

If Evan speaks, he’s going to cry, so he nods instead.

Connor’s fingers brush Evan’s cheek. “Don’t disappear on me, okay? I’d never get over you.”

Evan lunges forward and kisses him deeply. It’s gentle and warm, and Connor smiles into it. They rest their foreheads against each other afterwards.

Connor scratches lightly down Evan’s back. “This is going to sound stupid, but are you sleeping enough?”

Evan thinks about it for a moment. “Not really.”

Connor stands, tugging Evan up with him. “That always made it worse for me, so we’re napping.”

“You’re such a softie.” Evan kisses Connor’s jaw as they fall into bed.

Connor shivers at the sensitive spot, then lightly frowns at him. “Nap, not sex.”

Evan’s lips brush against Connor’s neck, and his arms wrap around his boyfriend. His right arm will be pins-and-needles in the morning, but he doesn’t care. “I love you, too, just so you know.”

Connor’s voice is the sort of soft that only Evan knows. “Go to sleep, Hansen.”


End file.
